


Just Your Shadow

by ABookAndACoffee



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, F/M, Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Moriel smut week, NSFW, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, in which Azriel is a giver
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-17
Updated: 2017-01-17
Packaged: 2018-09-17 20:49:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9343469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ABookAndACoffee/pseuds/ABookAndACoffee
Summary: Morrigan waits at home for Azriel after a mission. When he arrives, they both reflect on the times she has waited for him before at the House of Wind. She is caring for him when he becomes more interested in what she is wearing and decides to take care of her instead.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Moriel smut week prompt “lingerie” (a pretty loose interpretation of the prompt, tbh) 
> 
> Title based on lyrics from The xx - _Lips_  
>  _Just your love_  
>  _Just your shadow_  
>  _Just your voice_  
>  _And my soul_

Morrigan hates this part. The waiting. The wondering. The fear. 

She had been in bed, tangled in the sheets, restless. She kept reaching out across the space to find it empty. Her heart was racing, and then she realized why. 

_He’s coming._

She had jumped out of bed, throwing on the bits of clothing she found nearby, covering herself with a plush robe. Pushing her hair back from her face, she prepared herself for the wait. 

Azriel left on a mission one week ago, and he was supposed to return this evening. Now Mor is out on the balcony in the open air, hoping to see him return without too much damage. Physical, emotional, she knows it could be any kind. But it won’t matter. She needs him to return to her, and whatever state he is in, she will take care of him. She’ll heal his wounds like she has a thousand times before, and they will wrap around each other in the warmth of their bed. Finding comfort in his warmth is a newer development. One she sinks into gratefully. One she tries to remind herself of as she waits in the biting cold. 

The wind is one of Morrigan’s least favorite parts of waiting on their balcony during these evenings. It is constant, a never-ceasing howl that insists on making her uncomfortable. Being on the side of a mountain, one could hardly expect less. Morrigan still finds it in herself to resent this wind. It keeps her mind off why she is there, so she allows herself this petty, ineffectual grudge against nature. 

She tries not to do too much hand-wringing. She knows that he is good at his job. She knows that he will return. But they were apart for so long, the tie between them so tenuous before, that a part of her worries about it fraying, breaking until they are wrenched apart again and the steadiest, surest part of her life is thrown into turmoil. 

No, she doesn’t worry. She is terrified. 

Her skin is humming with the anticipation and her heart won’t stop its incessant pounding. She paces the balcony, arms wrapped around herself. 

Any minute now. He should be here, any minute.  

There have been many other times when she waited for him, at the House of Wind, despite her unsure position with him. Despite feeling like rejection was a word away. In the past she would ask Rhysand, or she would be visited by Azriel’s shadows, or she would glean information from Cassian, and she would be there when he arrived. Through the howling wind, the cold night sky, whether she had to walk up all ten thousand steps or not.  

Their ritual at the House of Wind went like this: she would wait, for as long as it took. He would land, in various states of distress. She would take care of him. Caring for him was a balancing act; she could never cross any lines or show how truly concerned she had been for him. She would wash him, and tend to his wounds, and hold him if he would allow her, and try to care for him as one friend would care for another.  

This usually passed in silence. It was a silence so thick she wanted to rend it with her fists, to scream at him through it until he couldn't avoid her thoughts, her stares, her rushing blood.  

When she was done, sure that he had found his equilibrium, she would retreat. It was one of the most strained parts of their old ritual: each of them waiting for the other to say that this was the result of something so much deeper than even the most loyal friendship. 

She would wait to see if he would pull her back to him. 

He would wait to see if she would ask to stay. 

Now she shivers, not from the chill but in gratitude that tonight will not end that way.  

He had taken care of her once, when he had barely known her. It is one kindness that has overshadowed all others in her life, and to call it a kindness falls far short of what it meant to her. He was so quiet, her shadowsinger, but that one action in the beginning told her all she needed to know about his loyalty, the kindness that was in him. He thought his hands were made for bringing pain, but she knew firsthand the gentleness and caring that was in him. 

A silhouette appears in the sky and she breaths easy again. He is cutting through the air quickly in a familiar pattern - it must not have been too bad, this time. She stands in place to greet him.  

When he lands before her, his wings shake off the cold.  

"Morrigan." He goes to her immediately, another change from before. There is no more hesitation, just relief and gratitude that she is still there, that she still waits for him, after all this time. He wraps her in his arms, breathing her in. His leather is cold, hard against her, but she clings to it as he buries his face in her neck. Whether he is landing at their house or at the House of Wind, it is only home if she is there. 

She only gives herself a moment before she pulls away to survey him. "How are you?" She never asks about what he has done. She takes the aftermath, and whenever he is ready, he will share the parts in between.  

"I'm fine, love. A few scrapes is all." He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear when the wind lifts it away from her shoulders. She nods. His answers usually go something like that, but she will see for herself. 

Taking his hand, she leads him inside to the bedroom. She prepares a bowl with warm water and a washcloth to clean whatever "minor" wounds he might have.  

Azriel has already begun removing his leathers, leaving his pants on but his chest bare. He pulls a wooden chair towards the fire, giving her space around him so she can go to work. 

Mor circles him to take in the cut on his ribs and another on his forearm. She nods her head to herself, reassured. He has returned to her before in far worse shape, both body and spirit. She takes in the familiar sight of him before the fire, his wings at rest. No injuries there, either. Her heart begins to beat faster, for a completely different reason, now. 

Azriel closes his eyes and allows himself to forget, momentarily, what he has just returned from. He feels her hands on him, soft and reassuring, and allows himself to sink into her. 

The first time he had returned to the House of Wind and she was waiting for him, he was reticent to let her help him. He used to go to Rhysand first, giving him a report before taking care of his own needs. He would be fine, he thought, if he could just finish this task and then find solitude. 

The first time he had landed and Morrigan was in front of him, he was terrified. For her to see him like this, to see the blood, the wounds on him that were the result of hurting others, for her to see what he truly was. He was never nervous to complete these tasks. But being in front of Morrigan like this shook him. He had tried to turn away from her, but she placed a hand on his chest. She had taken his hand. She had led him to the bathroom and cleaned his wounds, his hands. She had brushed her fingers through his hair before she left him and he had wanted to drown in that touch. He had let her go. 

As surely as she knew when he would arrive, he always knew that she would be there when he returned. He didn’t know how she found out, or how long she waited. He never said anything, never asked her about it or thanked her for it, for fear that she was doing this out of a sense of obligation, or guilt, or any of the other myriad of options he could have chosen to pretend it wasn’t the one reason he wanted most of all.  

He was good at coming up with excuses for why she was there. Excuses that allowed for all possible reasons for her to be there except the one that was true. 

After she left each time, he thought about what he should have done differently. He should have taken her into his arms. He should have lowered his lips to hers. He should have wrapped his hands around her waist, held her to him and buried himself in her so deep that he would never have come up for air. Perhaps he could have shown her the same dedication in that moment that she showed him. He gave her his devotion in other moments, but this one, where it was just the two of them, and she was caring for him more tenderly than he thought he had a right to… he shouldn’t have let her go. 

As he watches her now, he marks her breath, her pupils, the way she walks around him. There is a halting aspect to her movement that he might not have noticed if he hadn’t concentrated on her, hadn’t known her so well. He can practically hear her heart pounding, when understanding comes to him. 

He knows that she worries about him. He also knows that she has faith in him. She is hiding something from him, now. He realizes what it is almost instantly. She is tired, and she has been afraid, and she has loved him silently for a long, long time. This is the basic difference between them: he is the one who thrives in silence and shadow. Not her. The number of times she has waited for him in a state near panic have been an exercise in endurance and patience, and neither of those things come naturally to Morrigan. 

She is moving around him to check him for bruises when Azriel grabs her wrist. Concern crosses her brow. “What is it?” 

“Thank you, Mor,” he says quietly. “For doing this. For waiting.” He means more than thank you. He means more than tonight. She smiles at him gently, wanting to say that she would wait longer, if he needed. She just nods and continues to check him for wounds. He releases her wrist reluctantly. 

She finishes with the wound on his arm and moves to clean the one on his ribs. He has to raise his arm above his head, grimacing slightly with the movement. Mor lowers herself to her knees before him to clean and dress the wound. It won’t take long to heal. 

He watches her as she works, the way the fire makes her hair glow, turns her face a warm gold. The shadows on her face are accentuated, and he has to stop himself from touching her. 

“I think that’s it,” she says quietly, putting his arm back down at his side. She stands before him and brushes her hand down his cheek before leaning over to give him a small kiss. 

As she straightens herself, he glances down at what her robe had revealed as it fell open. Small, lacy scraps of fabric that were barely there, that barely covered enough to be considered clothing. He swallows, and she looks down to see what he was staring at, forgetting what she had been wearing when she went out to the balcony.  

“What are you wearing under that,” he growls. He pushes the fabric of her robe off one shoulder, revealing the lingerie she had on underneath.  

She is wearing two bits of unlined white lace. He can see the pink of her nipples through the sheer, delicate fabric, and Cauldron boil him if he doesn’t want to take them into his mouth in that moment. 

Heat grows between her legs from the way he is looking at her, and she quickly tries to shake it away. “I was in a hurry, I grabbed the first thing I saw. You’re lucky I put anything on.” She stops, watching his expression change. He is thinking of every other time that he has wanted to take comfort in her, every other time that self-denial was his response. He is thinking about how grateful he is to have her here, and how much he wants to show her just how much he appreciates her. His eyes have a faraway, glazed look, and when he turns back to her she shudders.  

He reaches for her. "Az, I need to take care of this," she protests, but he stops her, putting a hand on the back of her neck to pull her down and meeting her with a rough kiss. His tongue sweeps through her mouth and her breath becomes his.  

Releasing her so she can stand again, he pushes her plush robe off her other shoulder and it falls to the ground behind her. She is between his spread thighs, and the sound of her uneven breath hits him like a drug. He surveys her body now, taking in her bare feet and legs, her generous hips, small scars that pepper her, the swell of her breasts. 

He pulls her closer to him, burying his face in her stomach, breathing her in. His arms wrap around her legs and he smiles against her in satisfaction as he smells the change in her, the desire that is beginning to coat the sensitive area between her legs. 

Morrigan curls her body over him, his head in her arms, and she tries to anchor herself there, to hold herself still and calm against the storm that he has started in her. She wants him so much, to feel him between her legs, to rock her hips on him, his mouth and tongue on the most sensitive parts of her. For them to comfort each other in this way. But perhaps he is still there, in that place where he was hurt, perhaps there is something he experienced that he can’t, won’t tell her about. It feels selfish to want him like that right now. 

He moves his hands up to cup her rear and bring her in to him. He presses a kiss at the intersection of her thighs, over the fabric there, and she runs a hand through his hair. She rests a cheek on the top of his head, trying to remember why she is there, what she had been doing. When he hooks his fingers in the lace of her underwear and pulls them down her legs, she forgets entirely. She steps out of them, holding on to his shoulders for support. 

She stands again and looks down at him. He gestures to the remaining piece of fabric around her breasts. “Take it off.” He is watching her face as she reaches up to do what he has asked, and he runs his hands up her legs, his thumbs grazing the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. 

He pulls on her hips and brings her down to sit sideways in his lap. Her hand brushes the wound on his side. “Is this ok?” 

“Yes,” is all the response he gives her. He has her naked in his arms and it’s all he can do not to take her. 

Every other time that she has waited for him, met him, cared for him, is rushing through his head, all the times he wanted to find comfort in her. He hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to comfort her, as well. 

She leans in, hesitating, to kiss him. He pulls her towards him, returning her kiss with more hunger than she had shown. Grabbing her chin, he lifts her head to kiss her throat, feeling her pulse and breath beneath his palm. 

With one hand around her hips, he brushes a breast with his knuckles and takes it into his palm. Her nipples had already hardened in her desire, but he pinches it anyway, causing her to grind her hips on his leg. 

“ _Azriel_ ,” she gasps, and he wants her to keep saying his name like that. He wants to wring these noises out of her and put a stop to the worry he saw on her face, the silence that she keeps herself in during these moments together. He continues kissing her neck, finding her favorite, most sensitive spots with his tongue as he moves his hand down her body to reach between her legs. 

He is teasing her, brushing the inside of her thighs when Mor spreads her legs, grabbing his wrist to get his fingers where she needs them as she whimpers. He smiles against her neck and presses his fingers against her sex, his blood rushing through him when he feels what he had scented before – she is soaking wet for him, and his fingers glide easily through her folds. 

This – this is what she wanted before. Not the act itself, but the intimacy, for him to open up to her. For him to let her in. What she hadn’t expected was for him to ask her to let him in. 

“Mor, tell me what you want,” he breathes into her ear. He leans back, creating a void where their bodies had been connected. 

She looks back at him, hips writhing on his fingers, and says, “I want your fingers inside of me, now,” and he obliges her, thrusting one finger inside her cunt, then another when she clutches his shoulders to steady herself on his lap. 

He leans his head against her chest, resting above her breast, and watches his own fingers moving in and out of her. She is moving her hips on his hand, her eyes closed as she concentrates. She surprises him by grabbing his wrist again, helping him along and feeling the thrust of his hand. 

He increases his pace as she rocks herself on his hand, his fingers rubbing her clit, thrusting deeper into her, sliding on her wetness as she moans. 

He looks up to watch her face as she gets closer to her climax, one of her hands on his knee, the other holding his wrist, and she leans her head back, the firelight changing the shadows on her face. He can’t stop himself from burying his head in her neck again, kissing and licking and biting her until her hips grow more insistent and waves of pleasure run through her. The movement of her hips becomes uneven as she comes and she continues to move on his hand. 

When she feels what she knows to be the last rush of pleasure run through her body, she clings to his neck, breathing heavily on him. He wraps his arms around her, running his hands along her spine to calm her. 

Azriel is cursing himself for every time he let her walk away from him, before. 

He takes her in his arms, and although she wants to ask if he is tired, if he needs to rest, he only wants to get her into their bed. To show her that he noticed and appreciated every time that she had waited for him. That he knew she would be there, and that the only thing keeping him going was the thought of the relief on her face when he arrived. He stands with her in his arms, holding her close to carry her to their bed. 

There are decades of holding back to make up for, and he won’t stop until he has made sure that she understands how grateful he is for her dedication to him. That she would choose him and love him. 

He lays her on the bed before him and is contemplating how he will show her his appreciation again when Morrigan is grabbing at him, unfastening the buttons on his pants. He grabs her hand before she gets further, clicking his tongue. “Morrigan, love, I’m taking care of you, now,” he whispers in her ear, his breath hot on her, blowing strands of hair from her neck. His braces himself above her, looking into her honey brown eyes. 

“What do you want me to do, love?”  

She whimpers, “I need your mouth on me, now, please.” She feels like she should refuse, let him sleep, return to caring for him, something other than take in his attention. Even if he is willing to give her what she wants. Even if she has felt the throbbing between her legs return. 

She relaxes and lets him in.  

Azriel reaches back down between her legs, his fingers still wet with her. She closes her eyes and moans softly, wanting to unleash completely, knowing that, while her patience might be limited, his is boundless. 

She spreads her legs in anticipation, and he has to keep from chuckling at her brashness. Kissing a path down her body, he settles himself in between her thighs. He places her legs over his shoulders, brushing his lips and the tip of his tongue over her inner thighs. He bites her gently on one thigh, and feels blood rushing to his cock at the sound of her moan. He ignores that for now, concentrating on her. 

He looks down at the flesh between her legs, wet and ready for him. He places a small kiss on her clit, and he can feel the muscles of her thighs tense as she tries to keep from moving. He sweeps his tongue on her center and he has set her on fire. 

She wonders how she ever thought that they could be separated. He is as surely a part of her soul as she is of his.  

Mor reaches down to grasp at him, pressing her thighs into him lightly and savoring the feel of his head between her legs, his hair brushing her as he moves. 

His head is moving now as he tastes her. This taste, these sounds, these are the things he wants to rediscover and experience every day of their lives. Her heels are digging into his back and he thrusts his fingers back inside of her, pushing her down with his other hand when she arches off the bed. 

“ _Azriel_ ,” she moans again, and this is all he needs to hear to know that he will continue this worship of her for the rest of his life. He pulls her flesh into his mouth, sucking on her and flicking his tongue and she thinks that she is going to come undone now, that if ever there was a moment when she would go mad from pleasure, it would be now, with Azriel returned to her and between her thighs. 

Her breath quickens and she is clutching at the sheets with one hand, while the other hand is entangled in his dark hair. He is continuing to run his tongue over her, his fingers inside of her, when she comes again. She cries out this time, his name coming off her tongue like it has always been there. He continues licking and sucking and tasting her until he knows that she has completed her orgasm and there is nothing more to be wrung from her. 

He crawls back up to her on hands and knees, watching her chest fall and rise swiftly as her racing heart calms. He gathers her to him, wanting to hold her the way that she had wanted to hold him before. 

She starts to kiss him, to try to return the pleasure he had given her, but he holds her still. “Sleep, Morrigan.” 

She looks up at him, questioning. “Are you sure? Azriel, I love you.” 

He kisses her forehead softly and pulls her into him. “I know, love.” 

Her head is on his chest, his arms wrapped around her. He breathes in the scent coming from the top of her head, closing his eyes. Her breath sets the pace of his own, and he can feel her heart slowing until it has reached a steady, peaceful rhythm. 

Time passes while he lies like that, holding her warmth to him. He will sleep, but first he wants to savor the feeling of her on him, wants to hold on to this moment with her. The realization that she wanted him as much as he wanted her changed him in ways he didn’t anticipate. He no longer hesitates to show her affection. He no longer questions the way that she feels about him, the way she had always felt. And he is learning more every day about the quiet ways that she had shown him she loved him all along. 

And he will return to her like this, every time, and he will always love her, and he will never let himself forget that as much as he has been her shadow, she has been his. 

**Author's Note:**

> Come find me on [tumblr](http://abookandacoffee.tumblr.com/). I don't bite.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Just Your Shadows [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10731354) by [YouLookGoodInLeather](https://archiveofourown.org/users/YouLookGoodInLeather/pseuds/YouLookGoodInLeather)




End file.
